


What's My Age Again?

by mother_finch



Category: Person of Interest (TV)
Genre: F/F, Gen, mother-finch fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-13
Updated: 2015-08-13
Packaged: 2018-04-14 11:26:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4562847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mother_finch/pseuds/mother_finch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PROMPT: Shoot Prompt- Shaw wakes up one morning besides a 5 year old Root. Reese actually likes this Root, and Harold is indifferent, while Shaw doesn't feel safe to leave her alone. She didn't know what to expect from a 5 year old Root, but this was exactly not it, and Shaw can't wait to get her perky hacker back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's My Age Again?

Shaw awakens to a heavy weight being thrown down on her chest. It’s as if someone threw a forty pound suitcase on her abdomen, and she groans. Her tired mind slowly drags through her thoughts, trying to decide if they were traveling anywhere for a number. Nothing comes to mind.

The weight lifts just to come back down, and the notion repeats once more, filling Shaw to the top with irritation. _How does she manage to annoy me when I haven’t been awake for even five minutes_ , Shaw mutters to herself. The weight flops down again.

“ _God_ ,” Shaw hisses, bringing a hand to her forehead. “What the  _Hell_ , Root?”

“Who’s  _that_?”

* * *

 

A small voice asks it curiously, and Shaw’s eyes snap open instantly. Her gaze slides down, and she sees a wide, brown set staring back at her. Seeing Shaw awake, the small person’s face brightens in a large smile, and she comes forward, hands on each of Shaw’s shoulders. Shaw can’t hide her confusion- she hasn’t had enough coffee yet for that- however, she brings her hands to the child’s waist, lifting her straight up in the air and away from her body. The girl’s brown hair stretches back towards Shaw, creating a curtain around the young girl’s face. Still, her childish laugh fills every corner of the room.

“Put me  _down_!” She squeals happily, reaching her small fingers down towards Shaw, who only holds her further away in response. Shaw takes a good look at the child- from the brown hair to the brown eyes, and the overall shape of her face. There’s no other explanation, but the one she has makes no sense.

_Is this… Root?_

“ _Sam_! Put me down!” Shaw is all but ready to toss her across the room, to squeeze her eyes shut and wake up from whatever this is. Instead, she places the girl down on the edge of the bed, then sits up herself.

The kid slides off the edge of the bed, stretching with a child’s yawn. Shaw notices that she’s in a large, adult sized t-shirt, and an unsettling feeling leaks into Shaw’s chest. The impossible was seeming more and more- well- possible.

Shaw pushes back a migraine, trying to sort everything out. _I’m going to need a couple extra cups of coffee to swallow this one down_ , she thinks to herself in exasperation.

“So,” Shaw says, closing her eyes, and placing her hands on either side of her nose. “Anything you want to  _tell_  me?” She opens her eyes to see the girl’s face drawn up in contemplation.  _As if she’s listening to something._

“We need to go to work,” she says definitively, nodding her head. “Let’s go.” Shaw can’t help the hint of a laugh that emits from her as she stands. However, looking around, she finds the first of what she knows will be many dilemmas.

“Uh… Kid?” Shaw asks, to which the girl- with the roll of her eyes- reacts. “You have any- ya know-  _little_  clothes to wear?” She shakes her small head, curls bouncing about her face, and Shaw sighs.

“We’ll grab you something on the way there,” Shaw tells her at last, pulling a sweater on and not bothering to change out of her sweatpants. She brings her hand to the child’s shoulder, stooping over slightly, and starts her forward. “Come on, Root,” Shaw tells her, voice a confused mix between attempting to be gentle and remaining solid.

“Root,” the little girl echoes with a smile. “Is that a nickname for me?” She asks in awe. “I like it.” Rolling her eyes, Shaw tries to find anything else to say, but decides nothing is better. They make it to the door and Shaw slips on her shoes, but- before she can make it out- Root tugs on Shaw’s pant leg.

Looking down at her, she sees Root bring her small arms straight up in the air, face filled with the precursor of authority. Eyes set in her way and posture knowledgable and ready to fight, she utters one word:

“Up.”

______\ If Your Number’s Up /______

“Can I have a  _gun_  now?”

Shaw walks into the team’s subway station in gray sweatpants and her black trench coat, hair only as manageable as she’d woken up with, and brushes it down with one hand before bringing it back around Root’s small back. She’s dressed freshly in denim jeans and a purple, long sleeve shirt, sporting a pair of sunglasses she’d insisted on. Shaw refused them at first, but finally caved in the end.

“No,” Shaw tells her, holding back an antagonized groan. Root had seen Shaw’s gun on the way here, and hadn’t ceased to beg for one of her own.

“Please?”

And so, entering their head of operations, the first set of eyes to greet them belong to John Reese, who sits back in Harold’s chair, watching them approach. Upon seeing the small addition Shaw carries at her hip, he stands, an amused smile in his eyes.

“Two of you didn’t tell me you were adopting,” he cracks, nodding towards the little one. Shaw’s eyes are icy as she looks at him before placing her down.

“It’s not like that,” Shaw tells him, unsure how to express what she feels, so it all bursts out with anger. “John,” she says voice stiff. “This is.  _Root_.” At the mention of her name, Root smiles up at John, pushing her glasses up to her hair line, revealing familiar brown eyes.

“Can I have a gun  _now_ , Sam?” Root asks, tugging at the hem of Shaw’s jacket, putting on her best doe eyes. Shaw ignores them.

“What’s with you and your poor listening skills?” She asks, eyes boring into Root’s. “No. Way.”

John raises his eyebrows minutely, taking Root in; Shaw sighs, eyes coming back up to John.

“So, uh, how’d  _this_  happen?” John asks, peeling his eyes away from this five year old version of Root and directing them at Shaw. Shaw’s lips purse.

“Do you honestly think  _I_  know?” Shaw snaps back, a hint of exasperation in her tone. “People don’t just drop over  _two decades_  of their life in a night.” Shaw’s foot begins to tap subconsciously as her thoughts reel, and neither notice Root as she slips away.

“Are you going to do something about it?” John asks, met by Shaw’s cross glare.

“ _No_ ,” she spits back sarcastically. “We’re all gonna raise her like some sort of hippy  _group_  family.”

“It takes a community to raise a kid,” John points out, and her eyes narrow.

_‘POP!’_

_'CRRRRRASH.’_

Shaw snaps her gaze in the direction of the subway cart just as glass finishes its descent to the floor. There is silence. Then, all at once, everything hits Shaw with the force of a brick wall, and her stomach drops to her ankles. Before she knows it, she’s running to the cart, unsure what she’s feeling but knowing it’s anything but good. Something like terror for the unexpected trying to burst through her normal rationale.

Bringing her hand to the doorframe, she uses it to whip herself around the corner, eyes immediately scanning the space. They focus down on Root, in all of her forty-two inches of glory, holding a handgun in each of her little palms. They look like boulders in comparison, and it’s a wonder she is so easily holding them up. As she looks up at Shaw, a large, prize-winning smile overtakes Root’s small face.

“That. Was. Awesome!” She chirps out happily, handguns pointed in every which direction as she twirls about in self-satisfaction. Shaw approaches her quickly but cautiously, kneeling down before Root and easily taking the guns from her tiny hands. “Can I do that again?” She asks, hopeful, but Shaw shakes her head.

“No.” She answers, although her voice is not harsh. Hearing something behind her, Shaw turns her head to find John leaning on the wall, looking at them both. Root, seeing as Shaw’s attention has lapsed from her, takes the opportunity to throw her arms around Shaw’s neck, clinging onto her affectionately. Shaw, without even registering it, brings an arm around her tiny back to lift her up as she stands, turning on John with question in her eyes.

John gives a slight shrug of his shoulders, smile slowly creeping onto his lips as he nods their way. “I like her,” is all he says, but the words bring an anger boiling to Shaw’s blood.

“Really?” She asks snidely, tone challenging as she looks to him murderously. “She could have  _killed_  us with that shot. Or if it was any lower, it could have bounced back and hit  _her_.” John laughs, sending another wave of fury down Shaw’s spine. “Good to know one of us  _dying_  is so  _funny_  to you.”

“Not that,” he replies, stifling a chuckle. “But you are quite the mother figure, huh?”

She could have dropped Root then and there. Instead, she drops the gun left in her other hand, body gone so rigid at the characterization that it slips from her grip.

And goes off.

_______\ We’ll Find You /_______

Harold Finch sits on the subway’s metal bench, looking down at the five year old seated comfortably by his side, studying her carefree disposition. She is focused further down the bench, to where Shaw is crouching on the ground, wrapping white gauze around Reese’s foot. He grunts as she tugs it tight, leaning his head back against the bench until he is looking up to the ceiling.

“And you were worried about  _her_  shooting one of us,” John comments. Shaw stands, taking a seat between him and Root.

“Suck it up,” she responds tactlessly. “It’s just a bullet wound.”

“So… you’re  _sure_  about this?” Harold asks, leaning past Root to look at Shaw. Shaw, annoyed at being second-guessed yet again, swallows it down and settles on a nod.

She leans back on the bench, still half expecting to wake up from this freakish nightmare. However, with two gunshots louder than any alarm clock already ringing through the air, she finds it unlikely.

Bringing her hands to the tops of her legs, she pushes up to a standing position, needing to clear her head.  _Take a walk or something._  As she begins to walk off, she hears a set of little footsteps pattering after her.

“Where are you going?” Root calls out, and Shaw stops, turning to her.

“For a walk.”

“Can I come?” Shaw almost says yes, but knows that would defeat the purpose. She needs to think, mostly about how to deal with the current situation, and any distraction- no matter how small- could cause too big of a cloud in her already muddled judgement.

“No,” Shaw answers at last, and Root instantly pouts.

“What am I supposed to  _do_ , then?” She asks in a pitiful whine, and Shaw clenches her jaw together tight, keeping her composure. She wants more than anything to just give the slightest agreeing gesture for her to tag along. As much as she trusts John and Harold, she doesn’t feel safe to leave without Root. To leave her alone.  _Still,_ she reminds herself,  _you can’t help Root if you don’t think._

“Uh,” Shaw contemplates a moment, slightly uneasy. “Color something. I’ll be back.” With that, she begins her escape, the last thing she hears having something to do about not having crayons, but Shaw has already folded in on herself, consumed by her thoughts and enveloped in speculations.

Her jaw sets in concentration as she wanders down the chilled streets, paying no mind to where she travels.

_How did this happen?_

Shaw can’t even fathom the answer. People don’t change into children, and Shaw had never been one to believe in magic. She was a Marine. She was a doctor. Everything she ever did revolved around logical explanations. Yet this is anything but logical.

_Is there anything I can do?_

She certainly knew Root could be childish- immature, even- but it was only ever a comparison. Surely she never thought Root would actually  _be_  a child. Nor did she want to raise her back from five. Shaw thinks of an explanation with the beginning of a hysteric laugh.  _Hello. Oh this? This is Root. She_ was _my girlfriend, but now she’s… what? A kid?_  Her  _kid?_  It leaves an unease in the pit of her stomach. Did she care for Root? Sure; by this point it was a given. But to take care of a child- Root or not- was…  _is_ … it’s too riddled and perplexing to even finish the thought. Still, it leads her into another question that’s been pulling at her.

_Was Root like this as a child?_

Neither of them delved much into their past, Root seeming to forget hers entirely, and Shaw had never seen a photograph of the tall brunette in her younger years. Shaw thinks of her features, how physically similar they appear. She could easily be Root in miniature; however, she still never expected childhood Root to act this way. She isn’t sure how she envisioned Root being, but this wasn’t it. Somehow, Shaw never predicted for Root to be so… Root like. She’d assumed that she became who she was through life experiences, not just born with such zest and a stubborn, domineering character.

Shaw sighs, nose red with the progressive cold, and she finds herself only two blocks from the station. It felt as if she’d been wandering for miles, and she wonders if she’d subconsciously been circling the station. Danger could have smacked her in the face before she snapped out of her meditation; however, that didn’t keep her instincts from running in the background.

“OW!”

Shaw hears the voice, and like a dolphin’s sonar, Shaw hones in instantly on the source, seeing a small girl with dark brown curls splayed out around her head, and a pair of broken sunglasses a few feet ahead. Like a hawk, Shaw swoops in, scooping the girl off the ground and setting her- already walking- on her feet without missing a beat. The child gives a pitiful sniffle, small hand wiping at her small nose.

“Sam, I’m  _hurt_!” Root wails, tears spilling over in a spontaneous waterfall. Shaw can feel eyes on her as others pass by, but ignores them dutifully, pulling Root off to the side, away from the sidewalk’s bustling throng, and kneels before her. She takes in Root’s scraped up palms and the small cut at her left temple, and an angry wave crashes over Shaw, nearly washing out her fret.

“How long have you been following me,” Shaw demands, voice so stern Root forgets any of the pain she claims to be in.

“S-since you left,” she answers, sniveling as she rubs one eye already puffy from tears. Shaw shakes her head in dismay. Bringing her hands to either side of Root’s ribcage, she lifts her up, and begins to walk. Root wraps her teeny arms around Shaw’s neck, chin bobbing up and down against Shaw’s shoulder. “Are you mad at me?” She asks in a small voice, gripping Shaw tighter- scared that the answer might be yes.

“Not you,” Shaw sighs out, although her eyes are burning with hot coals. “But I’m gonna  _kill_  John and Harold.” She more than marches back to the station, entering with a storm in her wake and Hell in her eyes, spotting John right off the bat. He sits in the subway’s lone cart, cleaning out every last crevice of his weapon. When he hears the sharp clicking of Shaw’s boots, he peers up.

“You really can’t put her down, can you?” He cracks, smirk in his eyes, and Shaw’s face hardens maliciously.

“It would be  _easier_  to if you’d been  _watching_  her,” Shaw seethes. “I found her following me.  _Alone_.” John’s eyes meander from Shaw to Root, and he shrugs.

“She looks like she made out alright to me.” Shaw clicks her teeth in distaste, feeling a response hot on her tongue, but holding it in for the sake of the minor in the room.

“Have you just been sitting here the entire time she was out?” Shaw demands angrily, and his eyes flicker past her indecipherably before a devious smile touches his lips.

“No, I’ve actually taken up magic.”

“ _Magic_?” Shaw snorts contemptuously. “You can cut the  _crap_  now; you’re about as magical as a  _stick_.” John remains unfazed by her snarky comment, merely shrugging his shoulders, eyes telling her he can prove her wrong.

“Hand me the kid,” he tells her, placing his gun down and stretching out his arms. Reluctantly, and with a cruel scowl, Shaw hands her over. Reese looks deep into Shaw’s eyes a minute.

“Turn.”

“This really  _isn’t_  funny, Reese,” Shaw tells him, but grudgingly turns nonetheless. Her lungs stop working and her heart skips its day job, taking an impromptu vacation in her throat as her pupils dilate slightly. She chokes.

“Root?” At the name, she smirks, brown eyes gazing at Shaw from only two yards away. At full height, and full age.

“Miss me?” She asks, trailing a hand down her leather jacket to keep it smooth as she tilts her head slightly to the side, the waves of her hair shifting gracefully along with her. Shaw tries to grasp words- any word, really- to reply. She comes up short. Before she has any more time to try and force syllables out, something wraps around the bottom of her leg. Peering down, she sees the small child.

Still there.

Shaw closes her eyes at once, feeling overwhelmed for the first time in what felt like decades.  _How is any of this possible?_

“John filled me in on your little time travel theory,” Root- the actual Root- says with a coy humor in her voice, drawing nearer. “Clever, but I think there were a  _few_  holes in it.”

“What the Hell  _happened,_  then?” Shaw bursts, eyes flaring open. Root had come closer than she’d anticipated, and her gaze is readjusted slightly upward, heart running faster in her chest.

“I dropped off the number at your place before taking on my cover in the morning,” Root answers simply, as if it were all so painstakingly obvious. “I left you a message.”

“A  _message_?” Shaw echoes, perplexed. Her brow furrows. “What- whe-  _where_? I didn’t see a message.” Root rolls her eyes with a soft chuckle, and something like helium makes Shaw’s stomach float.

“Your phone?” Root offers, and Shaw’s eyes narrow.

“Like I had time to check that,” she spits. “I was busy dealing with this- this-…” She trails off, gesturing her hands toward the kid. “Who is  _this_ , anyway?”

“Our latest- and greatest- number,” Root responds, giving the child a sweet smile at her mention. “Her name is Amanda.” From behind her, Shaw can hear Reese’s amused snort, and her skin prickles with irritation. Shaw takes a steadying breath, fists clenching and unclenching forcefully.

“And you just left her in my  _apartment_?” She questions stiffly. Root’s eyes widen in innocence.

“What else was I supposed to do?” She asks, sweet tones laced cleverly into her tone, making it harder and harder to stay angry at the hacker. “She needed somewhere to go. And, by her age, I found it pretty evident she’s the victim,  _not_  the perpetrator.”

“So you don’t even wake me up to let me know?!”

“Calm  _down_ , Sameen” Root tells her, as if the concern is a pesky fly and her own voice the swatter. She places her hands on Shaw’s shoulders before letting them slide down the front of Shaw’s jacket, where she fiddles with the collar. “I left you with a five year old, not an assassin.”

Shaw groans, giving up the fight but not letting go of the rage, and rolls her eyes. Root’s hands freeze as she leans back, looking at Shaw with mock-hurt eyes.

“With a greeting like this, I’m starting to think you’re not even  _happy_  that I’m here.”

 _Don’t be ridiculous_ , she wants to spit, but can’t bring herself to say something so rash. She knew she wanted Root back, but hadn’t realized just how much she’d been aching all day. Her ribs ache and her feet hurt and her bones all smart like hell from the weight of despair that had secretly been pressing her to the ground. Thinking that Root might not be Root again was a lot more nerve wracking than she’d ever known, and it all hits her at seeing Root alive and well before her. Shaw is more than happy to see her, but she could never admit that. Instead, she keeps her outer shell stoic as her insides sigh in relief and share high fives of silent triumph until she can be as calm on the inside as she is on the outside.

She raises her eyebrows the smallest bit at Root, allowing the corner of her mouth to turn up in the slightest, and snakes her hands to Root’s upper arms before pulling her in. She brings Root’s face within an inch of her own, keeping her breath steady. Root is unable to do the same, for her breath hitches before becoming shallow, smile fighting against anxiousness to gain custody of her lips.

“I do think I kinda  _enjoyed_  the kid’s company,” Shaw replies to her in a quiet voice, keeping her eyes locked to Root’s. “She listens a little better than you,” Shaw speculates humorously. “She’s also got a better shot.” Root laughs, the sound dancing across Shaw’s face and filling her lungs.

“Oh, I’m  _sure_ ,” Root murmurs back, eyes flickering down to Shaw’s lips and back. Shaw can feel Root’s weight shift against her hands as she begins to lean in.

“Stop!” A small voice squeaks out, and Shaw can feel a force pushing back against her knee. Root and Shaw share a quick glance before directing their gaze down, only to see Amanda between them, a hand out on either of their legs as she struggles to force them apart.

“What’s wrong?” Root asks, curiosity mixed with delighted humor. The little girl tilts her head straight back, peering up at them with her face scrunched up in absolute, child-like distaste.

“Kissing is  _gross_ ,” she answers, sticking her tongue out as if the word alone leaves a bad taste in her mouth. Shaw feels the rumble of laughter rolling up from her chest, and knows she’s not alone in the feeling. With her head resting against Shaw’s forehead, Root begins to chuckle once again, eyes directed down at Amanda kindly. Shaw looks up from the small girl to Root, studying her face while Root is entirely unaware. She’d done it before- late nights when she couldn’t sleep or at times Root was lost in her own world- but Shaw found something more than awing in it. It’s calming, and the assuring proof that she’s here. Smiling. Laughing.

Shaw keeps the laugh she feels in, losing herself in Root, and a small but uncontrollable smile comes to her lips.


End file.
